


The Midwinter Festival

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [6]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Ancel teaches Berenger to dance, Domestic, Established Relationship, Festivals, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, non explicit sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Winters in Varenne were truly awful- cold and dark and worst of all- boring.The only thing that made any of it even remotely bearable was that fact that Berenger, who rose with the sun, could be convinced to lay about in bed awhile during the darker months. And then, of course, he’d rise and dress in a boring brown jacket and go about his boring duties. The fact that Ancel often joined him meant nothing more than how painfully boring everything else was. There was nothing much to do but read, and even though Ancel could read with ease now, after a year’s worth of lessons, that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed it.





	The Midwinter Festival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SteeleStingray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleStingray/gifts).

> This was inspired by [a post](https://steelestingray.tumblr.com/post/187540333184/theres-a-very-severe-lack-of-ancel-who-is-a) by steelestingray, and although it is, in fact, very little like the original intent- Ancel still teaches Berenger to dance :)

* * *

“Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.” 

― **George Bernard Shaw**

* * *

Winters in Varenne were truly awful- cold and dark and worst of all- _ boring. _

The only thing that made any of it even remotely bearable was that fact that Berenger, who rose with the sun, could be convinced to lay about in bed awhile during the darker months. Ancel treasured those quiet easy mornings, being brought to wakefulness with lazy kisses and slow touches.

While Ancel often found himself cold and shivering, Berenger was warm and had no reservations about holding him close and sharing that warmth. Sometimes Ancel succeeded in getting Berenger to stay long enough for a slow lazy fuck, and rarer still- to take breakfast in bed.

And then, of course, he’d rise and dress in a boring brown jacket and go about his boring duties. The fact that Ancel often joined him meant nothing more than how painfully boring everything else was. There was nothing much to do but read, and even though Ancel could read with ease now, after a year’s worth of lessons, that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed it.

The cold made his preferred style of dress impractical, to say the least. The metal of his jewelry cooled quickly and felt unpleasant against his skin, so he mostly limited himself to only wearing his best emerald earrings. He left his hair loose to shield his neck and dressed in plain white shirts- silk, because he’d be damned if he let himself go _ completely- _and warm woolen trousers accented with leather paneling at the inner thighs, for riding. Berenger gifted him a thick sweater of the finest cashmere, and fur-lined boots and gloves. He’d gifted him a rich-looking cloak, too- lined with sable.

When Ancel caught sight of his reflection he could admit that he looked quite fetching, though more simply and practically dressed than what he generally liked. At least Berenger clearly liked it, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at Ancel its own reward.

“Where are we going today?” Ancel asked on a particularly dreary morning as he sat at his dressing table, Berenger pulling on his boots behind him. Ancel stared at his paints before picking out a pot filled with a bright red, and his finest brush. He swirled the tip over his tongue to wet the soft bristles and bring them to a point, and looked up to see Berenger watching with a smile.

“Ladehors,” Berenger said, taking a step closer and setting his hands over Ancel’s shoulders. “It’s a two hour ride. You don’t have to come.”

Ancel dipped the brush into the pot of paint and lined his eyes carefully before switching to a different brush to paint his lips. 

“And what am I supposed to do here?” he asked once he finished and set the brushes down, opening his favorite jewelry box instead.

He could hear the wind howling outside, making the window panes rattle. Suddenly the thought of earrings seemed less appealing. He selected a few smooth gold rings instead. They’d be comfortable under his gloves, and wouldn’t be exposed to the cold air and leave his skin stinging, like the earrings would.

“Read by the fire and eat cake?” Berenger asked, twirling a strand of Ancel’s hair around his finger.

Ancel rolled his eyes, standing and pulling on his gloves before draping his cloak over his arm. He supposed he could amuse himself for a day or so easily enough. Karina, one of the serving girls, was teaching him to sew and he was in the midst of embroidering a dark blue jacket with delicate gold beads. Plus, he’d managed to find an actually interesting book about pirates, full of fighting and fucking. But then Berenger would be off somewhere by himself all day and that seemed oddly… lonesome.

“So Parsins can glare at me disdainfully all day long?” he said. “I’d rather brave the cold.”

Berenger smiled and offered his arm, escorting him to the stables.

Ancel’s nose itched in the crisp dry air and he held back a sneeze as he waited for one of the stable boys to bring Ruby out of her stall and saddle her. She whickered softly when she saw him, butting her face into his chest.

He glanced up to see that Berenger wasn’t watching, too busy saddling his own horse, and pulled a lump of sugar out of his pocket to feed it to Ruby, stroking her soft nose.

“Hello, stinky monster,” he whispered. Her ear twitched as if she’d taken offense and he grinned. It wasn’t quite fair- the stink of the stables was almost non-existent, a rare pleasant side effect of the cold.

Afterwards he mounted with confidence, used to riding by now. If pressed, he might admit he didn’t exactly hate it like he had at first. If pressed, he’d say that he enjoyed the result most of all- his thighs and ass were decidedly more toned than they had been before he’d entered Berenger’s service. If pressed- he’d still never admit that he snuck down to see Ruby sometimes when no one was around, and fed her treats, and talked to her in hushed tones about his thoughts and his dreams while brushing out her mane.

Ruby had been a fine gift after all, but he didn’t want to encourage Berenger to give him more horses when he could be giving him jewels.

The ride was cold but not entirely unpleasant. They passed the time in easy conversation, Ancel gleefully describing the events in his pirate book while Berenger looked on with vague horror. They stopped at the mayor’s manor and Ancel snuck Ruby another sugar cube before sending her off with a stable boy.

“What’s the business of the day?” Ancel asked, waiting for Berenger to take care of his horse.

“Taxes, mostly,” Berenger said. “Grazing for the cattle, land rights. There’s been a few minor disputes-”

“Stop before I fall asleep,” Ancel said, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll be at the tavern.”

He held out his hand and Berenger tossed him a heavy purse, jingling with coins.

“Find me after,” Ancel said before leaving.

This wasn’t his first time in Ladehors and he knew all the most expensive taverns and inns. As much as he enjoyed fine food and drink, he found the gossip to be better in the slightly seedier parts of town. He went to a cheap hole of an inn where the wooden floorboards were sticky with spilled ale and the iron candelabra overflowing with old wax that no one had ever bothered to clean.

It was early enough in the afternoon that there weren’t too many patrons about, so he didn’t have to wait long for the bartender’s attention. He ordered a cup of the finest wine they had and drank slowly as he glanced around the room. There was a group of dejected men and women sitting by the fire, wearing brightly colored but dingy outfits. They had strangely shaped cases with them and it dawned on Ancel that they were some sort of performing troop.

“What’s their story?” Ancel asked the bartender.

“Musicians,” he said with a shrug. “They were robbed on the road.”

“Send over some ale for them,” Ancel said, tossing a few more coins the man’s way. “And lunch, if they haven’t eaten.”

The musicians seemed surprised when the barmaid brought them a tray piled high with food and drink, trying to wave her away until she laughed and explained, jerking her head towards Ancel. They seemed grateful as they nodded to him and he smiled with a jaunty wave.

Ancel amused himself by talking to the other patrons- a scribe on his way to the capitol in search of work, a seamstress who’d ran afoul of her master’s wife and been turned out in disgrace, a young mercenary. There was a horse merchant complaining about the latest trade deal struck by King Laurent to buy horses from Vask.

“Everyone knows the finest mounts come from Lord Berenger’s stables,” the merchant grumbled.

“Maybe the King wants to keep them for himself, and send subpar Vaskian stock to the Akielons,” Ancel joked, elbowing him in the side. The merchant struck a small smile and Ancel bought him a drink to turn it into a grin before moving on.

By the time he’d made his rounds, the musicians were finished eating and seemed in much better spirits.

“Would you play for me?” he asked, offering a coin to the woman who seemed to be the leader.

She smiled widely, taking the coin. They played a jaunty tune and Ancel laughed, throwing off his cloak to dance. He drew the barmaid into it too, and then the inn was filling up with patrons, attracted by the music and laughter inside.

The bartender did brisk business; the patrons threw more coins to the musicians. It was definitely more fun than discussing taxes and _ grazing. _

It was late afternoon and Ancel was red-cheeked and giddy by the time he turned to see Berenger leaning against the wall, watching him.

“Like what you see?” Ancel called out through the crowd. It was too rowdy by then for any of the patrons to pay particular attention to their Lord, standing unobtrusively on the edge of the festivities.

Ancel beckoned Berenger closer, and when he shook his head with a wry smile Ancel made his way over, taking Berenger’s hands.

“Come dance with me,” he said breathlessly.

“We should be getting back,” Berenger said.

Ancel pouted but of course Berenger wasn’t swayed. Ancel delayed to tip the musicians and the bartender and the barmaid, and slipped a few coins into the pocket of the seamstress.

It was even colder outside than it had been before and Ancel pulled the cloak closed tighter over his chest as he shivered. The horses were tied up outside, ready and waiting, and Ancel let Berenger help him up into the saddle.

“How was your business?” Ancel asked as they started on the road home.

“Grim,” Berenger said. “It’s an especially cold winter and only getting colder. Soon the cattle left in the fields will start freezing to death in the night, and there isn’t room enough in the barns for all of them, isn’t time to build more. The farmers are clamoring for a solution but there isn’t much to be done.”

Berenger glanced over at him with a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ve soured your mood.”

“I’m used to the cold realities of life,” Ancel said lightly. “Hearing about a few dead cattle isn’t the worst thing I’ve had to deal with.”

“I’m sorry about that, too.”

Ancel rolled his eyes at Berenger and Ruby snorted in agreement. “I’ll race you to that tree,” he said, pointing, and took off without waiting for Berenger’s reply.

Due to his trickery he had a solid lead for a while, but then Berenger, the better rider, overtook him with a laugh that was quickly snatched away by the frigid breeze. Ancel grinned, watching the way Berenger’s hips moved in the saddle. For a man who tended towards the boring and the conservative, he came alive with a kind of sinuous grace while he was riding. Ancel didn’t mind losing if it meant he got to enjoy the view.

They’d only been riding for half an hour when they came across a merchant caravan, broken down on the side of the road.

Berenger pulled them to a stop and dismounted so he could talk to the merchants. One of the wagons had a broken axle and Berenger being Berenger, he simply took off his coat and set about helping them.

Ancel talked to the merchants to pass the time, shivering as the sun got closer towards the horizon and the temperature fell further. A group of young girls who couldn’t have been older than ten or so invited him into the back of one of the covered wagons, where they were at least protected from the biting wind.

“Your hair is so pretty,” one said in a hushed voice. “Are you a prince?”

“No,” Ancel said with a laugh. He didn’t tell her what his actual profession was, she was too young. Another offered him spiced cookies and chattered about where their caravan had been, what things they’d seen. They’d come across the mountains from Vask, barely making it before a vicious snowstorm closed the passes.

It didn’t escape Ancel’s notice that the wagon was full of bolts of silk, unsold this late into the season. It didn’t bode well for the merchants, still far from any major markets, as the roads would soon be too treacherous to travel.

He was distracted from his thoughts by plaintive meowing coming from a basket and one of the girls squealed in excitement.

“The kittens are awake!”

She showed him the kittens, five tiny fuzzy things, and Ancel laughed in delight as he watched one yawn. They were still young and unafraid of being handled. Ancel helped the girls feed the kittens, dipping a cloth into a jar of milk so they could suckle. They played with the kittens until they grew sleepy, and then he let the girls braid his hair and told them stories about the court in Arles and what King Laurent was like, trying to keep it as tame as possible.

“Ancel?” he heard Berenger ask from outside.

He bid the girls a fond farewell before slipping back out into the cold, where Berenger was waiting. He was covered in mud nearly from head to toe.

“I see now the reason for the brown jackets,” Ancel said. He frowned up at the dark clouds. It was nearly nightfall. “Are we ready to keep going?”

“I’m afraid it’s gotten late,” Berenger said apologetically. “We won’t make it home by nightfall.”

“Let’s go back to Ladehors then,” Ancel said. “We’ll stay at the nicest inn and drink mulled wine by the fire, and sleep in their fanciest room.”

Berenger nodded, relieved like he was worried Ancel might pitch a fit. Which was ridiculous, because the nicest room in the nicest inn in Ladehors was probably at least twice as luxurious as Berenger’s austere chambers even with all the decorative touches Ancel had added over the past few months.

The ride back to town took longer than it should have, since Berenger insisted on staying with the merchant caravan, but Ancel was too giddy thinking about the fancy food and lodgings he had to look forward to to be particularly put out.

It was full dark before they parted ways at last, but by then they were in town and back on paved streets. The proprietor of the inn recognized Lord Berenger and his pet right away and offered them his best room without being asked. Ancel waited in the best seat by the fire while Berenger went upstairs to change, drinking mulled wine and chatting with the people around him- well-to-do merchants and ranchers, a few craftsmen, travelers.

The winter had been hard on all of them, but they brightened at the honor of talking to Lord Berenger’s renowned pet while Ancel preened under the attention.

He spoke to a traveling physician about the alliance between Akielos and Vere, the state of Delfeur. It was technically Veretian land now, but the Kings were ruling it as a sort of shared province. They were renovating Marlas and building joint troops of soldiers to conduct patrols.

Berenger returned and Ancel turned his attention to him, pressing close to his side. Dinner was just as sumptuous as he’d expected and he ate with relish, laughing as Berenger tried to scrape the rich sauce off his meat with a faint frown. There were musicians here, too.

“Would you care to dance, my lord?” Ancel asked flirtatiously, setting his hand on Berenger’s thigh a little too close to his groin to be exactly proper.

Berenger flushed, still unused to Ancel’s boldness even though it had been more than a year by now. It was hopelessly endearing.

“Or maybe you’d prefer to go upstairs?” Ancel asked, already knowing the answer.

The room had an attached bathing chamber and Ancel insisted they wash together, scrubbing the dirt from Berenger’s skin carefully.

“Why do you insist on making such a mess of yourself,” Ancel muttered, soaping up Berenger’s hair.

“Those people needed help.”

“Maybe so, but how did you get mud behind your _ ear?” _

Berenger laughed and Ancel pressed a kiss behind said ear, now freshly clean.

Once they were both bathed to Ancel’s satisfaction, Ancel led Berenger to bed, still nude. Berenger opened him up with oiled fingers, as careful and reverent now as he had been the first time, so long ago. Berenger took him from behind, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and Ancel urged him onwards and begged for more and none of it was an act.

Afterwards Ancel laid his head down on Berenger’s chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

“This is a hard winter,” Ancel said.

“Yes.”

“And they say it’ll get worse.”

“Yes. Ancel, what are you-”

“We should throw a ball,” Ancel said with a wide grin. “A festival. For midwinter.”

“Ancel…” Berenger said, his tone pained. “It’ll be expensive.”

“You can afford it,” Ancel pushed. “It’ll be fun.”

“Who would we invite?” Berenger asked with the long-suffering air he had sometimes, when he was playing along with Ancel’s antics. “There are barely five noblemen in all of Varenne, and most of them have probably gone south for the winter.”

“We’ll invite everybody,” Ancel said. “Everybody who cares to come.”

“You mean-”

“Yes,” Ancel said with a laugh. “The common folk. It’s not unheard of, you know. In Ancient Artes Lords used to host feasts for their smallfolk for major holidays. And now that the Kings are moving to unite Vere and Akielos, it would only be proper. It would be… a sign of support, for the alliance.”

“And how would you know all that?” Berenger asked, taking him seriously now.

“You’re the one who taught me to read,” Ancel teased. “We’ll need music.”

“You mean the musicians from downstairs?”

“No, the ones from before, at the other tavern. They’ll be cheaper. And we’ll need decorations. When I was in the wagon I noticed the merchants had some fine bolts of silk. We’ll need a seamstress, of course.”

“Of course,” Berenger said. “I’m sure you happen to know one.”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Ancel said. “If she does well maybe you can keep her on staff. It’ll be more practical to have someone in the fort making my clothes than having to call someone in all the time.”

“I see.”

“We’ll need food, too. Obviously. We’ll serve roast pork and beef and-”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, and that time Ancel wasn’t quite sure what expression was in his voice.

“You said it yourself, the cattle will freeze anyway,” Ancel said defensively.

“Ancel,” Berenger said, “you lovely clever thing.” Berenger leaned up to kiss him, a hot kiss full of desire, like he meant it.

“I’m afraid it won’t be enough,” Berenger said. “So much of the cattle is at risk that we can never eat it all, no matter how big the festival. And we’ll need breeding stock come spring, or else we’ll never recover.”

“They say the Kings are forming joint Veretian and Akielon troops in Delfeur,” Ancel said. “They’re in need of horses. They’ve had trading deals with Vask, but the snows came early to the mountains, and now Vask won’t be able to deliver without going through Patras, and meanwhile those poor soldiers have to go about on foot like peasants.”

“Oh,” Berenger said.

“So you’re not entirely without imagination,” Ancel said with a laugh. “Or shall I spell it out?”

“Spell it out,” Berenger said with a content smile. “I like hearing you talk.”

“That’s not something most men say to me,” Ancel teased.

“I’m not most men.”

Ancel kissed him again for that alone, and then turned on his side and wrapped Berenger’s arm around his middle with a satisfied sigh. “Send some of your horses on loan to Delfeur and empty up room in your stables. The cattle will be kept safe there for the winter. Maybe you can even charge the farmers rent.”

“I’m not going to charge them rent,” Berenger said disapprovingly. And then-

“Alright. Let’s throw a festival.”

* * *

In the morning Ancel went back to the inn and got the seamstress and the musicians, and then they found the merchants and traveled to Berenger’s fort together. Berenger bought their entire stock and sent them south. Before they left, one of the girls stepped forward with a small bundle of soft cloth in her hands, giving it to Ancel reverently. There was a kitten wrapped up inside, the one that had yawned.

The kitten had blue eyes, so Ancel named him Sapphire and made a collar for him out of a bit of blue lace.

“Is that animal going to sleep in our bed?” Berenger asked, watching as Ancel played with Sapphire’s tiny paws and pressed butterfly kisses to his nose.

“It’s a cat, it’ll do as it likes.”

“Just like my other pet, then.”

“But this one’s hairier,” Ancel said, picking up the kitten and holding him out while Berenger carefully stroked his head. The kitten meowed. “He likes you! He’ll be a fearsome mouser one day. He’ll earn his keep, like the rest of us.”

“Ancel-” Berenger said before breaking off awkwardly. Ancel cradled Sapphire close to his chest, waiting to see what Berenger would say next. But Berenger just kissed him fiercely, holding the back of his head with both hands like he might hold a priceless vase.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Ancel asked when Berenger pulled away.

“Yes,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind Ancel’s ear before turning to go.

Midwinter was only two weeks away and Ancel threw himself into festival preparations, leaving the boring matter of the horses and the cattle to Berenger and Parsins.

He planned the menu and selected the ale and wine, and directed the seamstress, Laurelai, in how he wanted her to make the decorations. Karina helped them, and before long he felt confident enough to leave it in their capable hands.

It wouldn’t be enough, he knew, so he organized parties of soldiers and local boys to travel to the forest and cut down pine boughs, carting them back to the fort. 

Sapphire climbed all over him, meowing, as he helped the servants braid the branches into garlands, wearing plain trousers and a linen shirt so he wouldn’t get sap all over his fine clothes.

When Berenger walked past the hall he nearly tripped over his own feet, staring.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you,” Ancel teased, sticking his tongue out. Despite his plain clothes he was still wearing fine emerald earrings and the heavy emerald necklace Berenger had given him back in Arles, showing through where the neck of his shirt gaped open.

“Yes,” Berenger said simply, blushing before going on about his own business.

Ancel made sure to bathe and prepare himself thoroughly that night, waiting in Berenger’s bed wearing a plain white linen shirt and nothing else.

Berenger practically swallowed his tongue when he first walked in and Ancel laughed and tumbled him into bed and rode his cock until they were both crying out their completion.

In the morning the preparations continued and Ancel took whatever time he could find to finish embroidering the blue jacket.

A week before the festival Berenger seemed tense as he returned to their rooms after the day’s work, and Ancel stood behind him massaging his shoulders after his bath.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Of course,” Berenger said.

“You seem tense. Are you worried about the festival?”

“I’m always tense.”

“I see,” Ancel laughed, knowing it wasn’t exactly the truth. “I, for one, am looking forward to it. We’ll have a wonderful feast that everyone will talk about for years to come. And I’ll finally get to dance with you in front of everyone, and then they’ll know there’s more to you than a stuffy old horse-breeder.”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, his shoulders tightening.

“What is it?” Ancel asked, suddenly afraid. Berenger had never been ashamed of him before. He’d realized his value from the start, and only grown to appreciate him more at court in Arles. Was he ashamed now? To have an extravagant pet while his province was going through a hard winter?

“I could… not wear jewels,” Ancel said, his voice trembling. “I could… we could-”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, turning to look at him. “Don’t think for one moment that I’d ever be ashamed of you.”

“Then… what’s wrong?” Ancel whispered.

“It’s… silly,” Berenger said, looking away again.

“It isn’t. Tell me.”

And then Berenger said something that Ancel could never have predicted.

“I can’t dance.”

Ancel let out a startled laugh, letting himself sink down to wrap his arms around Berenger’s shoulders from behind.

“Ancel,” Berenger said reproachfully.

Ancel only laughed harder as he felt relief spreading through him like a balm. Berenger wasn’t ashamed of him. Berenger was just a silly old fuddy-duddy who was scared to _ dance. _

“I’ll teach you,” Ancel said once he’d calmed.

“You can’t _ teach me,” _ Berenger said. “I- I’m a lumbering bear. Next to you- how graceful and beautiful you are- I’d look like- like a _ drunk. _Please- you can dance with someone else. Anyone else, so long as you come to my bed at night. I just-”

“Oh darling,” Ancel said, pressing his smile into Berenger’s soft chestnut hair. “I don’t want to dance with anyone but you. I’ll teach you. It’s not so hard.”

“Ancel-”

“You taught me to read,” Ancel interrupted. “And you taught me to ride horses. Let me teach you something for once. Please.”

“...Fine,” Berenger said at last, still blushing brightly.

Ancel laughed again and took him to bed, too happy for finesse or fakery. He’d felt like that for a long while now, and the thought that it might last another season, another year, another…

He didn’t let himself think about _ another. _He was happy now, in a way he’d never been. He wanted to drown in it, and make it last.

* * *

The first lesson took place in the quiet bustle of the partially decorated main hall. He’d asked Marcella, the leader of the troop of musicians, to come play for them.

“We’ll start with a waltz,” Ancel said. Berenger seemed awfully pale so Ancel nudged him in the side. “You look like you’re headed to battle- relax, it’s just dancing. I’ll lead to start. Once you get the hang of it we can switch.”

“Alright,” Berenger said, nodding.

Ancel showed him how to set his feet and where to put his hands. He felt a little giddy when Berenger carefully put a hand on his waist. They touched all the time now. They fucked. Still, this felt different- Berenger’s hesitation oddly sweet.

The moment felt precious and Ancel leaned up to steal a kiss. “Relax,” he said again, “just follow me.”

Berenger had a pinched expression of concentration on his face as Ancel led him, stumbling, through the steps.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” Ancel said. “Loosen up.”

Berenger tried so hard to relax that of course it only made it worse. He stumbled on the next step, nearly stomping down on Ancel’s foot if Ancel hadn’t twisted away at the last possible moment.

“Sorry,” Berenger said, pulling back. “I’m sorry.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “We should just give up on this whole thing.”

Ancel looked at him, at how uncomfortable he was, how conscious of the servants he was, and wanted to kick himself. He took Berenger’s hand instead, and pulled him out of the hall.

“Ancel,” Berenger said with exasperation.

“What did you tell me when I said reading was too hard?”

“To keep trying. You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Of course not,” Ancel said with a laugh. They took a brief detour to their chambers to grab their winter things, and then Ancel took him down to the stables, empty except for the horses.

“Hold me like I showed you,” Ancel ordered. Berenger stepped forward and took Ancel’s hand, his waist.

Ancel stepped forward too and laid his head on Berenger’s shoulder. Berenger stiffened a little, his heartbeat speeding up. They were almost pressed against each other like this, nearly chest to chest.

“Remember what you said about riding horses?”

“What exactly?”

“To relax in the saddle and move with the horse. This is the same.”

“Are you the horse in this metaphor?”

“You do seem to enjoy riding me,” Ancel said with a smirk. “Are you ready to dance?”

“There’s no music.”

“We’ll make our own,” Ancel said. He started humming quietly, and then took a slow step. Berenger followed.

Ancel set a slower pace than Marcella had, easing into the gentle rhythm of a waltz. Berenger seemed more at ease here, comfortable as he was in the stables and away from the prying eyes of everyone but the horses.

He still wasn’t exactly graceful but he didn’t stumble, and didn’t step on Ancel’s toes. Once he had the hang of it they sped up a little and Berenger relaxed against him. It felt like victory. They danced for a long while until there were footsteps outside and Berenger pulled back.

It was a serving boy, come to call Berenger away on some duty or other.

“Ancel…” Berenger said, looking at him with such softness in his eyes that Ancel blushed.

“Go on,” he said. “But don’t think there won’t be more lessons.”

“Of course,” Berenger with a small private smile, and took his leave.

* * *

They had more dancing lessons- in the stables, in the bedroom. Eventually they tried it with real music again and Berenger managed a decent waltz, not stumbling once. Ancel taught him a few flourishes- a dip, a spin.

Once they finished a particularly good set, the servants in the hall started to clap and cheer.

“And you said you were a lumbering bear,” Ancel murmured, pressing a kiss to Berenger’s flushed cheek. “You’ll be ready for tomorrow, I think.”

“I can only hope.”

“I’ll make you look good, don’t worry.”

“You always do,” Berenger said, and kissed him for real.

Ancel wanted to drag him off to bed but there was work still to be done. He ordered lanterns to be set up, lining the path to the fort. He put finishing touches on the decorations.

The cooking started before dawn. The kitchens were too small to cook a feast of the magnitude that Ancel had planned, so they set up cooking fires in the yard with spits over them for roasting giant hunks of beef and pork, attended by kitchen boys. The cooks toiled in the kitchens making sauces and baking bread until the whole fort smelled of spices and smoke.

The atmosphere was festive, the servants rushing about giddily as they made final preparations.

Ancel was at the center of it all, directing them as they set up long tables in the hall, and a raised platform for the musicians.

Shortly before sundown he changed into fine silks and carefully selected his jewelry, the emerald necklace around his neck, more emeralds on his fingers and ears, gold pins for his hair. He painted his face with restraint, gold to line his eyes and dust his cheeks.

“You look beautiful,” Berenger said from where he was standing in the doorway.

“You- do _ not,” _Ancel said with vague horror when he saw that Berenger was wearing one of his ugly brown jackets. “Take that off, wait here.”

He went back to the bedroom to retrieve the blue jacket he’d finished embroidering two days ago and returned to see that Berenger had taken off the ugly brown one from before.

“You’ll wear this.”

“Ancel…” Berenger said in that pained way he had.

“Don’t give me any lip, my lord,” Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a party, not a funeral.” 

At least Berenger didn’t struggle as Ancel helped him into the blue jacket. That would have made the lacing take even longer. “I embroidered it myself,” Ancel said proudly, stepping back to admire his work.

Berenger looked very dashing in a color other than brown. He looked properly lordly, in fact. Ancel’s heart certainly did not skip a beat as he ran his eyes down Berenger’s body.

“You did this?” Berenger said, running his fingers over the delicate stitching, the tiny gold beads. “It’s lovely.”

Ancel smiled so widely his cheeks ached. “We should- we should go greet our guests.”

Berenger held out his arm and Ancel nearly swooned at the sight of him. Somehow he kept it together and they went down to the main hall, lit up by hundreds of candles.

The guests were already starting to arrive, merchants and tradesmen, young men and women from the surrounding villages. They looked around tentatively like they expected to be kicked out any moment.

Ancel made sure they had cups of ale and greeted the ones who seemed the most nervous, chattering easily about how their journey had been, the weather, other such nonsense. As the people grew more sure of their welcome they loosened up, and before long the hall was full of laughter and conversation. More people came then, until the hall was full to bursting. Eventually the revelry spilled out into the yard, warm from all the cooking fires. Though Ancel supposed the ale helped too.

It wasn’t like the refined celebrations at Arles. There weren’t fifteen different courses of dainties, no pets to entrain the guests other than Ancel himself, who sat at Berenger’s side at the head table for most of it.

It was still heady, the night full of uncontained joy.

Eventually Berenger stood, the guests hushing as they waited to see what their Lord had to say. He raised his cup of ale and made a toast about old ways and new, about the resilience of the people of Varenne, about hope and more joyful days to come.

Everyone cheered when he finished, and then Ancel nodded to Marcella, who led her troop into a waltz.

Ancel stood and offered Berenger his hand. Berenger seemed nervous, but he let himself be taken to the part of the room empty of tables and guests, the dance floor. He took Ancel in his arms like Ancel had taught him, and then breathed very slowly through his nose- in and out- like he was bracing himself.

He took the first step and Ancel followed, staring up at him with a smile. 

They danced.

The hall, the guests, the feast- everything blurred and faded around them. Ancel danced and looked up at Berenger’s handsome features and marveled at the fact that somehow this was his life. He’d started as a street performer, then made a living selling his body to rough men in cheap brothels because he had nothing else to sell.

And now he was dancing with a handsome Lord at a feast he’d thrown himself, in his own home.

He marveled at the strange trembling feeling in his heart, blooming like a golden sunrise. He’d never thought he could feel that way about anyone. He’d never thought anyone could feel that way about him. He could see it plain as day in Berenger’s eyes, the promise of a future laid out before them.

Eventually the other guests came to join them, and still- all Ancel cared to notice was Berenger.

* * *

They stumbled to bed that night drunk and giggling, and Ancel watched with surprise as Berenger pulled a small satin bag out of his pocket.

“What’s this?” Ancel asked, taking it.

“A gift,” Berenger said, stumbling a little as he bent to try and pull off his boots without unlacing them.

“A gift,” Ancel said, opening the bag to see a beautiful bracelet glittering with diamonds. “I think I have enough gifts by now to buy out my contract ten times over.”

He slipped on the bracelet and raised his wrist up to the light, beaming as he watched the way the stones glittered.

“Ancel,” Berenger said, something strange in his voice.

Ancel looked up to see Berenger staring at him wide-eyed. There was shock over his face, like he’d just realized something important.

“Ancel,” Berenger repeated. “Your contract ended two months ago.”

Ancel snorted out a surprised laugh. His contract- the thing that had mattered most to him not so long ago- had ended and he hadn’t even noticed. He laughed harder, Berenger joining him.

“Oh dear,” Ancel said, walking towards him and pushing him down to the bed. “It looks like I don’t have to fuck you anymore. Whatever will you do?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Berenger said and wrapped him up in his arms, pulling him close and kissing him, warm and sloppy and somehow perfect. Ancel was too giddy to try and make it look good.

If pressed- he might admit that he hadn’t been trying for quite a while now.

_ fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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